NYE
by Myske
Summary: Happy New Year! John and Sherlock share a kiss and more! This is a oneshot, and it became quite explicit, so please, M to MA readers only! xx


Well, it's NYE (12 minutes to go as I start this story) and It's my birthday! So yeah, happy birthday to meeee! And what better way to end the year than with some, err, porn? This is quite explicit JohnLock so if you don't like, please don't read! :D

I don't even know what I'm doing, I can't stop myself, LOL, please someone pull my hands away from the keyboard! Have a very happy new year everyone! xx

Disclaimer: I do not own any of this - obviously.

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**NYE**

Sherlock pushed John up against the door of his bedroom. His lips bruised John's and his tongue snaked out, probing John's lips and begging for entry. John's hands snaked into Sherlock's dark curls, gripping his locks and he tried in vain to pull the amorous detective away from him. Sherlock's lips smirked against his and long fingered hands slipped into his hair, massaging his scalp and neck.

John didn't stand a chance against that sort of attention, he moaned and Sherlock took his opportunity, thrusting his tongue into John's mouth before he could clamp his mouth shut again. Feeling his blogger give into his attentions, Sherlock slid his hands down John's shoulders and kneaded the muscles in his back, John moaned and arched into him, his entire body thrumming with pleasure.

The chime of the bells stopped and the television screen was lit with gaily coloured fireworks lighting up the Thames and bursting over the Palace and Big Ben. Sherlock pulled away from the kiss but rested his forehead on John's.

"A simple kiss on the cheek would have sufficed," Mycroft's curt tone cut through the haze that had descended around the two of them. They turned to look at him, one smirking and the other blushing. Mrs Hudson was sitting on the couch next to Mycroft, her tea was forgotten in her hands, poised between the coffee table and her mouth. Sherlock deduced that Mycroft had just kissed her on her cheek as the clock struck twelve. Greg Lestrade and Molly Hooper stared for a great while longer before any reaction was forthcoming.

"Finally!" Greg finally brought out in a huff. He started clapping, and Molly joined in, smiling shyly at the two of them.

John's eyes darted between Sherlock and the four others. His expression between bewildered and thunderous. He nodded stiffly once, then took off up the stairs. Sherlock's eyes followed John's retreating body and before he could snap at the others to leave, Mrs Hudson ushered them down the stairs and into her rooms.

"Good luck," she whispered and winked conspiratorially as she pulled the door closed behind her.

Sherlock took one deep breath and let it out before he walked as calmly as he could up the stairs to John's bedroom. He stood on the landing for a few moments before he tried the door handle. It was locked so he knocked.

"I'm not talking to you, so you might as well go away."

"You're wrong, John. You are in fact talking to me." He heard muffled cursing from within.

"Just go away, Sherlock."

"Let me in, John."

"No, go away, I've been humiliated enough as it is."

"Let me in, John. I'll stand here all night, knocking on your door until you relent." Sherlock knocked twice and fiddled loudly with the door handle to prove his point. He heard John sigh softly on the other side of the door and he exhaled his own relief. The sound of jeans and a knitted jumper sliding across the wooden door and the play of light beneath the door told Sherlock that John had slid to the ground and was sitting with his back against the door. Sherlock followed suit and sat in the landing with his back pressed against John's bedroom door and his knees pulled up to rest his elbows on.

"Why did you do it?" John finally asked, when Sherlock had begun to accept that they would be sitting on opposite sides of a door all night. It startled him.

"I don't know."

"That sounds about right." John chuckled but it was a cold sound, devoid of his usual mirth. "You humiliate me, drag out my dirty laundry, so to speak and give no reason. There never has to be any reason with you does there?"

"John, wait," he attempted feebly. His hands flew up to clutch the hair at his temples. There was something there, but he couldn't hope to explain it to John. What if John didn't understand, didn't accept? Was it worth the risk? He could pass it off as an experiment, but would that have the effect of making John even more incensed? He huffed out a breath and heard John mirror him on the other side.

"Wait for what, Sherlock? To be told that it was an experiment? That you were bored of the tedium of watching the fireworks, of the others? I never know with you, Sherlock. I never know for sure where I stand. It's frustrating."

"John, just open the door."

"No, Sherlock. I need you to explain yourself. You think I haven't noticed that you've been acting out of character over the past few months but I have. I thought that you just needed time to adjust to the old routine, but I don't know now."

"John, please open the door." Sherlock was desperate, his voice ragged, breathy and defeated. He turned so that he was facing the door, his hand clutching with futility at where the back of John's head might be resting on the other side.

"No, Sherlock. You need to explain first. What is happening here?" Sherlock slumped against the door. He didn't know where to begin. He didn't know how much to divulge.

"You know I don't discuss emotion, John. It has little to do with the work."

"Is this an experiment, Sherlock?"

"No, John. You know that I would never." John huffed a small, but genuine, laugh.

"Just tell the story, Sherlock."

"You might want to get comfortable for this retelling." Another small laugh.

"Just tell it, Sherlock."

"When I was gone, not a day went by without me thinking of home. Sentiment, John, at first it was abhorrent, but I soon grew accustomed to that dull ache in my chest, that longing to be back in London. That first night I came back and we waited across the street in that hideous flat, I realised, as Moran was pointing that rifle at our window, what it was that I was missing."

"So you had feelings for me as your friend, you missed me, that's natural, Sherlock, that's what people do. They miss their friends." Sherlock laughed coldly.

"That wasn't it, John, and I can tell by the tone of your voice that you don't believe that either," he paused. "It was more than that, it was stronger. While Moran waited for you, I wanted to do nothing more than close my fingers around his throat and throttle him. John, the feelings that I realised that I had for you were stronger than the bonds of friendship."

"Sherlock, that was more than a year ago. Why now? Why the timing?" John sounded hopeful, but he was still hurt. Sherlock, even with his limited understanding of emotions, couldn't help but notice.

"I don't know."

"Wrong answer, Sherlock," he could hear John scrambling to get up and move away from the door.

"Stop, John."

"Why should I?"

"Because I'm in love with you!" The words slipped out without his consent and his lips hung open, as in disbelief of what they had uttered. John flung the door open, his expression may have been angrier than the one he wore before he retreated to his room.

"Get up, you great git." Sherlock obeyed, despite feeling like he wanted to run away. He supposed that this may have been what John felt earlier, he could understand now why he was mad. "Are you sure?"

Sherlock avoided eye contact with John as he nodded slightly. Because of this, he was completely taken by surprise when John pulled him by the back of his neck and brought their lips together. John pulled him into the bedroom and pushed him down onto the bed, coming in after him so that they could lay side by side.

"Are you sure, Sherlock?" Sherlock nodded. "Why did you wait so long?"

"I wasn't ready, John. Please, I really wasn't ready." John nodded. He understood. Sherlock wondered why he had ever doubted him. "These last few months, though, I have been ready, I just lacked the skill to go about it." John laughed, kissing Sherlock affectionately on the nose.

"I know. I just couldn't piece it together until now. I couldn't understand what you were doing. You were following me everywhere, then you would not talk to or at me for hours on end. And then there was the staring. I though you wanted to leave, I thought you felt trapped, Sherlock." Sherlock reached out to kiss John on the mouth again and to brush away the lines that had formed on his forehead.

"I don't think I could again." John broke out into a grin and Sherlock's face matched his as he drew him in for a languid kiss. One of John's arms was tucked underneath him, and the other carded through Sherlock's hair, occasionally fisting it to elicit a moan from him. Sherlock's fingers traced John's face, committing every line and ridge to memory before moving to his torso and pulling them even closer together. John moaned and arched into him, sighing softly as he felt Sherlock's erection pushing against his belly. Sherlock frowned.

"What's wrong?"

"You don't have an erection, John." John chuckled and snaked his hand down to grip Sherlock's arse.

"I can control myself, Sherlock. I didn't want to frighten you, I don't really even know where you will allow this to go." Sherlock pulled his eyebrows together in consternation before a grin broke over his face before he reached behind him for John's hand and placed it on the front of his trousers.

"All the way, John. We've waited too long, don't you think?" John nodded and started to unfasten the belt and zipper that hid Sherlock's cock, his own erection slowly growing.

Sherlock unbuttoned his shirt before reaching to the hem of John's jumper, pulling it over the blonde man's head. When that was done he attacked the buttons of John's shirt and pushed it over his shoulders, trapping his arms.

His eyes flew straight to the marred skin over his right shoulder and his lips and tongue followed, smiling as he drew out lustful groans from John's lips. His fingers scraped over John's nipples and his hips pushed into John's, grinning when he felt the other man's penis pushing into his own, a delicious friction.

John shrugged impatiently out of his shirt and pulled Sherlock's off his back. He lathed his nipples with his tongue and chuckled softly as the man arched into his touch.

"Turnabout is fair play, Sherlock." John smirked, reaching down to pull Sherlock's trousers and boxers down his slim legs.

As Sherlock kicked them off the end of the bed John took his opportunity to suck the tip of him into his mouth, Sherlock let out a strangled scream at the sensation and gripped John's shoulders tightly. John kept the tip in his mouth as he swirled his tongue over the eye of Sherlock's cock, Sherlock arched up off the bed and threatened to tip them both over, but John wasn't going to have that happen so he slung a leg over the detective , straddled his knees and continued his ministrations.

"John, I won't last!" Sherlock gasped. His cock thudded against his body as John let it slip out of his mouth to beam up at him.

"You won't have to," he said, licking his way from base to tip. Sherlock's hands gripping his shoulder and pulling at his hair spurred him on and John took as much of him into his mouth as possible. John ran his tongue over the sensitive skin and worked it in and out of his mouth until Sherlock's testicles clenched and he climaxed. Sherlock's eyes clenched shut and his mouth opened in a perfect 'o', the breath escaping and being drawn into his lungs at the same time.

They breathed heavily for a while before Sherlock interrupted the quiet by tugging at the front of John's jeans, unhooking the belt and unfastening the button and zipper.

"Off," he demanded, and John wiggled the jeans and his red pants off his thighs and off the bed to join the pile of clothes and bedthings on the floor. Sherlock turned away from John to scan the room.

"We don't have to do this, you know."

Sherlock opened John's top drawer and pulled out a bottle of lubricant and a condom. John wanted to ask how he knew, but thought better of it. He tossed the foil packet at John and squeezed a liberal amount of the lubricant over his fingers. John watched him closely, even while he was tearing the packet open and rolling the condom over his erect penis. Sherlock placed his fingers at his entrance and slowly worked in a finger, finding a pace. John sat between his knees, completely mesmerised as he slipped in another finger, then another.

After what seemed to be eons they broke eye contact and Sherlock's slick fingers wrapped around John's penis, adding lubrication to the condom, and gently tugged him forward. John positioned the tip of his cock at Sherlock's anus and slid in languidly as he kissed his lips, eagerly meeting Sherlock's tongue in his mouth with his own. He pulled out and thrust back in gently, testing whether Sherlock had adjusted yet. Sherlock sighed in assent and John began to thrust more earnestly. When he reached completion he pulled out of Sherlock slowly and threw the used condom into the waste paper basket.

"Happy new year," they gazed at each other and Sherlock held John close, tangling their sweaty limbs together as they fell into slumber.

Sometime later, Mycroft had come back up to the flat to say his goodbyes. He had not intended to, but the conversation in Mrs Hudson's flat was reaching ad nauseum and Anthea was running late. He stood in the doorway of John's bedroom, pinching the bridge of his nose and shaking his head.

"Happy new year, little brother, wish you could have locked the door," he whispered to himself. Sherlock and John slept facing each other, Sherlock's lips touched John's temples and his were brushing against his collar bone. He spotted the blanket on the floor and shook their clothes out of it before laying it over the both of them. "Wouldn't want a cold first thing in the year, I suppose," he smirked. He shut the bedroom door and headed downstairs and out of 221 Baker Street.


End file.
